


(FUCK A) SILVER LINING

by slyther_sins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Guilt, Next-Gen, Post-War, Regret, implied! drarry, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:04:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyther_sins/pseuds/slyther_sins
Summary: ' only gold is hot enough! '↳ in which draco malfoy comes to terms with his wrongdoings;and while he originally plans to only make up for his mistakes,he embarks on a journey that changes him for the better.[ draco malfoy | post-war][ alternate universe | redemption arc ][ groundbreaking- | teia © 2018 ]





	1. Chapter 1

**_ ( FUCK A ) SILVER LINING _ **

_" fuck a silver lining 'cause only gold is hot enough "_

______________

_**\- it is after the war, and draco malfoy has come to full terms with his wrongdoings in the past, and does his best to make up for it all - he doesn't want to only help rebuild hogwarts, he doesn't want to only use his money to fund some of the organizations; he wants to actually take part, and take action.** _

_**'cause half-assing things isn't what draco lucius malfoy does.** _

_**___________** _

[ draco malfoy | post-war]

[ alternate universe | redemption arc ]

[ groundbreaking- | teia © 2018 ]


	2. ZERO

**HE LAY THERE ON HIS BED, ARMS FOLDED STARING UP AT THE WHITE CEILING** ━ not blinking, not talking, but simply _staring_. Grey eyes that once squinted into slits whenever their owner felt threatened and followed by a smirk or some crude remark to a fellow schoolmate, were now bland and empty. They held no clear or readable emotion(s), only occasionally opening and closing, and the dark hollows of bags underneath had drained away any color of remaining life away from his face. Even so, his chest continued to silently rise and fall. The matter of situation was worse internally, however. Guilt had settled not in his chest, but in his mind. Day by day, it continued to multiply until his vision became blurry to the point of near-blindness, his mind went numb with _feeling,_ and had eventually coiled up and wrapped itself around his now-weak frame like thick, heavy chains.

Ever since the War...things had changed.

For Draco Malfoy, specifically, the changes did not consist the simple awkward silence, or avoidance of eye contact, but  _drastic_ changes. Lucius Malfoy, his Father that used to boast of his wealth and power, was now the shadow of the man he once used to be; hiding away in his darkened bedroom, and only ever coming out to eat ever so occasionally. While the man usually sat alone, while every now and then you would catch his wife sitting with him during breakfast, not once would you see their son at the table as well. It wasn't that he didn't want to join them, it wasn't that he couldn't, but rather, things were _tense._  The problem Draco found with them, was that they were constantly walking on eggshells around him as if he didn't  _understand_ what was happening, as if he was _still_ a child.

But he  _did_  understand.

He could tell by the height of the letters his mother had piled up by the lamp at the door, of whether or not they had gotten more harassment mail. He knew, by the closed up or opened up blinds of his window, of whether or not it was safe to look out; if it was even safe to get out of bed without the risks of a deadly hex or curse being sent through it. Draco knew, by the expression on her face of when she'd gotten back from shopping, of whether or not she'd ran into a crowd of anti-Death Eaters, and could determine by the redness of her face of whether or not she'd gotten into an argument, or had been publicly embarrassed. ( And speaking of his mother, Narcissa, she was currently off in France - a suggestion by Draco himself, for her to get away from everything, at least for a bit. And after about a month or two later, his Father joined her; so for the last couple of weeks since their leaving(s), the Malfoy Manor had been quite dull and cold. )

Eventually, at a quarter to eleven, Draco had snapped himself back to reality, and heaved himself up from his bed with as little shakiness as he could; blinking several times at the floor before heading to the bathroom. He didn't dare look at his face as he slipped out from the shower, or as he brushed his teeth; he knew he had looked like a mess, from dehydration causing an ash in his skin, from worsened depression leaving heavy shades of grey underneath his eyes, and dulling his face even more than what it already was. His once-strongly pointed chin now consisted of more mush than structure; his face starting to sag to the point where the skin was starting to prematurely age, and he was beginning to look a lot more like his Father after the Battle - only, without the build of body, and without the horrid beard.

With a quick rinse of his face, he cast the towel into a small bin near the door and headed downstairs. A low exhaled escaped dry lips as Draco's flat, and un-socked feet met with the cold floor below. Heat soon gathered the more he quickened his pace, but faded the moment he'd entered the kitchen. The Malfoys had been fortunate to still have been able to keep their home, and their money within their family vault, but with the keeping of all, stayed the memories. Memories of the slain corpses in the dining room, and dried blood trails running from the kitchen. Corpses hung up from the ceiling of his room. A space in the house nicknamed, 'The Corner of Death' due to most of the victims being forced to stand there, shivering and pleading for their lives, before they were killed.

His head shook back and forth in an unconscious manner, trying to shake away the thought(s.) He averted his gaze from the ground and a hand went for the cabinets. He never went for the fridge; because of both the house elves, and because of the fact that he didn't know how to cook──well, he did but didn't trust himself to in this current condition. With further thought on his secret ability, he'd wished he would've made it public earlier on; that way, he could've made meals for himself, and his parents. That they could all bond over this new-found knowledge, and he could do it more often──like as a hobby other than reading, self-loathing, and practicing potions.

He was also beginning to feel bad for consuming any of the food cooked for him in the recent days. Yes, they were house elves, and yes, they had spent their days──their _lives_ ── zipping across the house to serve their masters, but whether or not he'd like to admit it, Draco didn't like the moments of when he'd turned down a dish or a drink with a simple hand, and the look(s) on the house elves' faces as they quickly nodded and turned out the room──looking utterly miserable.

( The first few times, Draco had caught them banging their heads against the wall outside his bedroom, or burning their hand on the stove, but had quickly found a solution to lessen their self-punishment. He'd come up with the excuse that the food or drink was either too hot, and he was waiting for it to cool before he would begin his meal. It worked, thankfully it worked, and he didn't see their disappointed looks after that. But in reality, hours had passed by before he'd eat; nibbling on a bit of semi-cold salmon, or taking his delicate time to cut into his potato. And by that time, the whole meal was ruined. But the house elves hadn't known, because Draco also knew how to hid his secret as well as play it off. )

Being careful not to alert any of the nearby elves──after several glances over his shoulders and around the hallway corners── Draco dug through the cabinets and sought out to make oatmeal. But after further thought, he had decided against it and placed the ingridents back. Then, he went for an apple out of the bowl──but also denied himself that food choice. While actually  _thinking_  about it, Draco realized that he hadn't really wanted to eat _anything_  for the morning. He eventually settled for some water, of sparkling lime, and swirled it around in his glass unconsciously──hoping he would fall back into his state of zoned-out thinking, but only resulted in hearing the back-and-forth slosh of his drink in his left hand. But it was fine──it kept him distracted.

Perhaps a bit too distracted.

He hadn't heard the loud  _whoosh!_ from the fireplace as his Mother flooed into the Manor. He didn't hear the clicks of her shoes as she'd begun to walk around, or her questions of concern as she searched the house for him. ( Draco's choice of location seemed to be the perfect one, for his Mother had narrowly missed spotting him right by his the speck of his now faded, white-blond hair. )

The soft and rich fabric of navy-blue robes frantically swept the floor below as Narcissa continued to call out for Draco──but to no response. Her attention eventually turned back to the fireplace: her son couldn't have apparated, and there had been no exact 'safe place' for him to have gone off to had he'd run into danger at home. She bit her lip, trying not to let herself get overwhelmed with a mere possibility that hadn't even proved to be true.  _Floo._ Yes, she would floo back to inform Lucius and together, they would look for their son──and find him with whatever help any of the wizarding families who would still bother to associate with their family.

Draco continued to stare at the floor below him. He didn't know how long he'd remained this way, but he did know of the unsettling feeling in his stomach as he suddenly sat upright and scanned the room. He stood up without a second thought, and the chair scraped roughly against the floor; echoing out. At first, it was for the urge to vomit, then came the assumption that somone had broken in, he could feel the secondary presence──but it wasn't as if he could've done anything against them, nor could he have / properly / defended himself, but with making his location known, he hoped his death would be quicker.

Draco's gaze shifted from left to right. _Where are they?_ He forced down the panic that threatened to rise, and continued to grip the air beside him──until he'd realized that his borrowed wand had been l _eft upstairs_.

Narcissa stopped in her tracks at the sound of a chair moving nearby. Fear was the only thing coursing through her veins.  _Draco._ She'd thought. _Is he still here? Is he even still alive?_  She had to quickly blink her eyes before the tears overflowed because she hadn't wanted to / still / think of the horrible possibility to happen to her baby──to her _son. Draco._ ── even after the worst had been gone through. Merlin be  _damned!_ if anything happened to  _her_ Draco.

 _Wandless._ She was aware of this. She'd had a few wandless spells she could send out to buy time, but other than that, she was completely defenseless. Any nearby item could've weakened her potential opponent but she'd most likely be arrested for attacking. But it was the internal  _'what if '_ questionsthat forced her to push away the thought of consequences. All centered around Draco, of his safety, of his life, but as long as her child was safe, she hadn't cared of the aftermath.

Following the previous noise, Narcissa carefully made her way into the kitchen──silencing her breathing as she neared the doorway. But one look inside nearly had her crying in relief──he was there.

Draco's head turned to the door at the sound of footsteps, "Mother!" He didn't expect her to be back home for another week or so. His face broke out into a smile, and he'd been planning on running over and capturing her in a hug when──

_"Draco, love, have you been eating?"_

The question hit him harder than he'd expected.

And Draco had only became aware of it──that he'd stopped breathing──when the knuckles of his hand popped the corner of the counter, as it flew out and grabbed onto to keep him upright, and to support his swaying vision and feet. Almost immediately after, he felt tears beginning to gather up in his eyes. It wasn't because of pain, no, those tears were long gone, but at his mother's question because she sounded so _fragile_ , Merlin, she sounded so fragile... and he knew his answer wouldn't have been one she wanted to hear.

 _Especially_  not at this time.

In his sixth year, when his clothes hung loosely on his already-small body, and with his skin turned an impossibly lighter shade of pale ── with bugged out eyes, and a tendency to faint on a daily basis──his mother nearly fell out onto the floor at word of the news, and at the sight of her son.

He couldn't let her face it a second time.

Draco bit his lip.  _He couldn't._  So with a shaky inhale, he tightened his grip on the marble counter next to him and straightened up his crooked posture, closing his eyes as he mustered up the ability to speak, "Mother, I──"

_"Have you been eating?"_

The question was repeated, not in anger but in worry, as noticed by the soft(er) addition to her voice. Looking up, he found his Mother staring right back at him──and as the overhead lights enhanced her appearance, Draco almost let out a sob. The stress of the war had certainly aged her, newfound premature wrinkles and bags sitting upon her once flawless skin. And whether or not Narcissa been his mother, Draco would've been afraid - would not have given it a single thought - to even dare yell at her; even if she'd socked him in the street, and robbed him blind. She'd reminded him of a grandma, one who'd played with the towns' children and would have dinner with neighbors at every chance she got because husband and children had already passed on, and she was patiently waiting for death; being alone, and the only surviving member of her family.

And this was what had gotten him.

At last, the waiting tears at his eyes fell down his cold cheeks and Draco dropped his head shame, "No, Mother, I haven't." He heard her let out a small gasp and could already see her hand going to cover her mouth to muffle the crying _,_ "A-and I'm sorry. I truly am. I'm trying," His foreign voice──dried and cracked beyond his own ears reconizing── broke the moment an image of one of the many liquor bottles laying on his bedroom floor came to mind, "I really am. I just.. _.don't_ know how to deal with all of this, and it's getting harder to get out of bed every morning, and I──"

By the time his Mother had reached him, Draco had collapsed to the ground. She scooped him up into her arms and held close to her chest, rocking him back and forth as she did when he was a baby. Draco's hands grasped tightly onto her dress(robes) and held on tightly as sobbed pitifully into her embrace; doing his fair share of yelling in the process──which was, thankfully, muffled.

Everything was wrong.

Everything had  _gone_  wrong.

And it would _never_ be the same.

Draco knew this, and so did his Mother──so after some time had passed, as the two remained on the floor, and as she caressed his hair and moved a section away from his ear, she gently whispered, "Draco, love, I know things aren't the very best at the moment. I...I know. And I do not know when, or how long it will take, but things will get better. There will be a day where you will no longer feel this way. There will be a day where t. he hexes will stop, and we can shop in peace. There will be a day where your Father will be able to face you, and conversate and bond with you unlike he failed to do in the past. There will be a day...where you will be happy." She kissed his forehead, " I swear this to you, my love. There will be a day where you will be free of the pain, and happy once again."

Draco──who had been calming down at this point──had heard this, and nodded in response; hugging her tightly. He'd loved his mother──always had, and always would. Although he was given birth to nearly eighteen years ago, his mother held him like it was still day one; and he was immensely grateful for her love.

An old lullaby from his younger years floated around the room; her voice airier than he last remembered, but beautiful nonetheless. As the song came to an end, a promise to stay in Malfoy Manor came up. " But Mother, your things. " Draco back from her hug slightly; his nose a bright red, and tears streaks still clear on his face. He chuckled a little bit at the thought of his current appearance before continuing, "They're still in France──"

"──My dear Draco," Narcissa gasped, pulling him impossibly closer to her, "──You matter  _more_  than those things." She kissed his head several times, squeezing him even harder, " _So_  much more..."

The tears were beginning to gather once again. But as he heard footsteps approaching, and a third body join in on the hug, Draco broke down entirely; one hand holding onto his Mother tightly and the other onto his Father──enclosing their circle completely. He'd never outright seen or heard his parents crying, but this had been a different story. It was of pain and suffering in the beginning, but realization came of that this was the very first time they'd ever been this close in years──and tears turned over into laughter at one another's horrible appearance, and into well, past-due talks.

So maybe things weren't good at the moment.

And maybe they weren't the most well liked in the wizarding.

But the hours following after this gave Draco hope the future would become bright once again. He knew he'd done wrong in the past──he _knew._  And he knew a few coins, and simple sorries to the people and the families harmed in the process  _wouldn't_ fix any of the damage he had caused.

He had to do something

── _more._

 


End file.
